


Let's make art

by Aoimesis



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Self Harm, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 22:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18558796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoimesis/pseuds/Aoimesis
Summary: Stefano. Victoria. An encounter resulting in a new creation drawn in blood.





	Let's make art

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of self injury, can be triggering !!  
> I also have a wattpad account which is why you may have came accross that text already. I hope you'll like it !!

"Come on, don't be shy, do not hide... You're not hideous. If they had made YOU this", he said, pointing at the scars, "what would I be ?," pointing at the half of his face, hidden behind strands of hair.

She sighed, and displayed them to him - her arms, covered in scars. Full of scars. Old and new. Closed, and fresh. She was ashamed, but at the same time, she was not. She was not ashamed, because it was making her feel alive. Making her...feel. She lived through pain, and thanks to pain. Now that she faced someone who wasn't disgusted of her, and who loved violence, pain, to the point of making such things into pure art... why would she hide ? She was no monster.

The young woman with him loved his art, could become a part of it, without giving away her life. Oh, she would have agreed to it of course if he had decided to make a masterpiece of her death and not of the pain she inflicted to herself. You have no idea how much she would. But... Something in him, in his madness, in his sadness, in his... happiness? Made her want to stay, as long as she could, especially since he told her that he was sure he would be able to make magnificent pieces of art from her living body, more than from her death. She would agree on anything he would ask from her, just to stay by HIS side.

She knew it perfectly well.

So did he.

He had already taken her with his camera a few times, but not with her own pain. He went ahead, and turned around her, slowly, camera ready, waiting for just the right, perfect angle. He suddenly stopped moving and lowered his hands.

"I'm pretty sure, you, my dear," Stefano began, "would like to become art even more, if for me... I'm right ?" She turned to face him.

"...Yes," she answered, frowning a little, wondering what idea he would come up with this time.

"Perfect." he said with a smile. "My dear, take this."

Her eyes fell to his outstretched left hand, a small gaps escaping her at the sight of the dagger. Instantly, she knew what he wanted. The fact was, she was craving it. Being by his side didn't erase all of the memories, the nightmares, the things going on relentlessly within her mind. She wanted to feel alive. She wanted it more. Needed it...but it was so wrong.

"Shh... nothing is wrong when it comes to the beauty of art." he comforted her. "Do not worry. I can make these sensations last so long. I can make them beautiful..." a sigh rolled past his lips, "And you," he said, eyes locked on her, "don't have to fear and be ashamed of desiring it. Some of my gorgeous models that you've seen- allow me to kill them for it. In our society, wouldn't it be worse than what I have in mind right now?"

She nodded, then carefully took the dagger from his light grasp. Her mind was reconsidering, but it all came to a stop when his hand fell upon her waist. She allowed him this; she was his model, he was the artist. He was the one who could and would lead such seances.

He moved her closer, a smirk curling at his lips, with a lustful spark in his eye, something like hunger. But what for? Her? Her soul? His own art?

...Her pain?

Who knows...

He guided her to walk back until her shoulders touched the wall, right between the two large photographs he had taken weeks before inside of the Union Theatre. Her eyes remained on him until he nodded, bringing his camera before his eye, patiently waiting for the right moment. The dagger played between her hands for a moment, her gaze locking onto Stefano from time to time.

When it has became clear he wouldn't give more instruction and let her decide what to do, she stopped thinking. Hell she needed it ! It wasn't sane, more probably totally insane. But she had lived with it for so long, she wasn't ready to give it up for anything else that could make her heart beat and her mind appeased. A single tear rolled down her cheek, not even from sadness, or anger. Perhaps it was a tear born from a mix of her sanity, yet also her insanity. Maybe...

Quickly shaking her head, she pulled up her dress slightly, just enough to expose her right tight, and softly, sweetly, graced the touch of the tip of the blade. Then, she tore. She bit her lip as to not let herself whine, closing her eyes, her whole body suddenly flooded with relief, at the same moment when she heard the click of the camera. All of the nightmares that had returned as of late, all of the sleepless nights, terrified and alone in her room, where she would leave to Stefano's bureau, all before hesitating and eventually returning into her own room, sobbing from everything she would feel. All because it was not what she wanted to feel.

She wanted, needed to feel alive, to have a goal, something to live for; all she felt was resentment, fear, and despair. All of these things appeared through her fresh wound and the effect it had on her right away. She was standing there, back against the wall, dress lifted up and a tight opened and bleeding. She stood there, back against the wall, her dress lifted at the hem as her thigh bled down her leg. Her eyes closed, head slightly bowed, her lips parted open as blood rushed to her cheeks, the dagger held lightly between her fingers. The relief from the wound fled through her whole body, the burning and itching sensation on her thigh was more powerful than ever. She realized she couldn't move, but it was all fine. Because she felt so good, so blissful, even if reason says she shouldn't. When she eventually came back to her senses, Stefano was standing before her, his hands on the wall framing her head. Because she felt good, even if reason says she shouldn't.

"This was...not a work of art," he said, his voice low, almost started growl, against her ear. "This was a true...masterpiece. Never have I been able to capture such pain, such despair, and such...relief... on a living subject. My muse, you are not inspiring but you do so much more..." he pressed his lips against her cheek in a surprisingly soft manner, then moved to kiss her lips, gently biting the bottom, before sinking in his teeth with enough strength to draw blood from it, both smiling. Both content with darkness.

Finally, would have she found a reason to stay...?


End file.
